


At All Hours

by DarkElements10



Category: Stargirl (TV 2020)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Rick Tyler Needs a Break, Rick Tyler Needs a Hug, Stargirl S01E01, poor rick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25550221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkElements10/pseuds/DarkElements10
Summary: Rick Tyler has the weight of the world on his shoulders. A weight he never asked for. Managing his grief and anger over his parents’ sudden death, his schoolwork, fixing his car to have some sort of reliable transportation, and the nightly calls to pick up his unruly uncle from the bar always had him on the move.
Kudos: 6





	At All Hours

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find this fanfic on FFN under the same username.

**By: Rhuben**

* * *

Rick settled back in his chair, one arm draped over the back, and peered up at Principal Bowin unperturbed. His stomach growled. Principal Bowin’s eyebrows lifted. Letting out a humorless laugh, he parted his lips and said, “It’s a stupid box of candy. Barely anyone in this school likes it, let alone buys it.” He used his index finger to jab at the desktop. “It’s on that cart, day after day, and no one touches it.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just take it. Nothing in this life is free, Mr. Harris.”

“Whatever.”

Principal Bowin pursed her lips. She crossed her arms over her chest. A moment later she clasped her hands together in front of her. A tight smile came to her face. She wasn’t going to press the issue any further. It never made a difference. “Maybe you could use this time to think about your actions today.” She then turned on her heels and strode out of the detention room.

Sighing through his nose, Ricky slumped down in his seat. Tilting his head back towards the ceiling, he placed his hands over his face before he pushed his fingers into his hair. A stupid box of Nutty Buddys. That’s what this was all about. He was hungry, didn’t want a stupid room-temperature pre-made “for the kids who can’t afford a lot” sandwich that’s been sitting out all morning. So, he took a box of candy. Big deal. He’d think about his actions all right. He’d think about how he had little money after buying his lunch in the first place, and no one would think twice about a box of candy just sitting out in the open.

It’d last him until the morning, at least. At most, until the next time his uncle Matt could pull himself together long enough to get to the grocery store. Even then, however much he’d manage to get was dependent on how much he spent at the bar each night. It wasn’t the healthiest option, he knew, but it tasted good. The chocolate, the peanut butter, all wrapped around that layer of wafer. Absolutely mouth-watering.

And, it was a nice change from another bowl of ramen. They were even running out of that.

Pulling his gaze from the ceiling, Rick leaned forward in his seat and folded his arms on his desk. He stretched his lower back as he settled his chin on his arms. He flickered his eyes towards the trickle of students coming to serve their own detention, before setting them back onto the chalkboard at the front of the room. _Bring your schoolwork._ He snorted. As if anyone could focus on their schoolwork when just about everything else was so much more important. Like getting something to eat. His stomach growled again, and he pressed his fist into his stomach.

His days always started about five in the morning. Climbing out of bed, first thing he’d do was pack his bookbag of all the textbooks and the homework he half-finished the night before that lay strewn about his bed. Maybe a pen would be stuck to his cheek. A page ripped out of his notebook from where his leg was strewn across it. A textbook laid across his chest, heavy. It was better, he came to understand, to come to school with some of his homework done than to not bring it at all. It lessened the disappointed stares, and the “I know you can do better” head shakes he would get in response to his mumbled explanation of doing his best. When he bothered to give an explanation at all, anyway.

Quietly stepping into the living room to make sure his uncle was still sleeping, let alone still breathing, Rick would pick up the half-eaten plates of food, crunch over the chips that lay strewn across the carpet, and jostle the cans of Red Bull that sat atop the coffee table – at some point in the night, it had been shoved out of its usual position. Once the mess was cleared away, he’d set out a new, clean glass of water and some aspirin before shaking his uncle awake.

“Wha-whatsgoinon?” Matt asked, managing to lift an eyelid with what Rick could only guess was with great effort.

“Get up,” Rick would reply shortly, swinging his arm out of the way to avoid the slap or punch Matt would aim his way. He had learned to anticipate some aspect of retaliation over the years after showing up at school with a black eye and a cut cheek on a handful of occasions. Most times, Matt usually managed to succeed in a swing and a miss, knocking himself to the floor. Rick had also learned to keep his distance between himself and the nauseous smell of unbrushed teeth and stale alcohol breath…and whatever Matt might have possibly thrown up in the middle of the night. “Get in the shower.”

“Don’ tell me what to do,” Matt grumbled, tucking his arms underneath his chest to push himself up into a seated position. “Get out of my way.”

“Aspirin,” Rick said, indicating the white pills on the table, “Water. Knock yourself out.” Then, he would turn and leave his uncle to his own devices. After taking a quick shower, while there was still warm water, he’d throw on a pair of jeans with faded oil stains (though, he wasn’t sure he even owned anything that wasn’t oil stained by now), grab his shoes that seemed to soak up every inch of water whenever it rained, and throw on a long-sleeved shirt that was starting to stretch out at the collar. He’d step outside to continue his, seemingly, never-ending work on his car.

The very same car his dad had given him a model of the night he died. The model that sat in the center of his dresser. That was clutched tightly in his hand during his funeral. Often he wondered how far he’d be in restoring the old car by now if he had his father there to help him.

It had taken him ages to save up the money to buy the parts he needed. Whenever his uncle remembered to give him allowance for the chores he did around the house, he was able to slowly accrue the parts bit by bit. Luckily, with Blue Valley’s junkyard he was able to get the parts at a decent price – as long as the right sizes and pieces could be found. Even with the fancier cars driving around town, it could be hit or miss at times. With his own interest in fixing cars, he at least didn’t have to worry about the cost of labor – and the occasional library book helped him whenever he got stuck enough (always returned on time to avoid any overdue fines).

He could work for an hour or two before his uncle really managed to get himself up for the day.

Once it was clear his uncle Matt was awake and ready for the day, in the shower or changing in his room, Rick would slip back inside in search for something to eat for breakfast. If there was anything at all. Sometimes there were cold leftovers he could scrounge together. A potato or half-eaten two-day old pizza or something. Sometimes they even had enough milk for a bowl or two of cereal. Toast wasn’t out of the question; the bread was pretty good at settling his stomach from how long it had been since he had last eaten anything.

When Matt was ready to leave for the day, Rick would already be back working on his car. Trying to stay out of the way as much as possible. The car never talked back, at least not with words. Whatever sound it decided to make when he attempted to start it was a pretty good indication of what the next step was in his attempt to bringing it to life. Or lack of sound as the case may be. But all parts had a place, working together to give it motion.

So much unlike the two of them.

Rick was never even offered a ride into town to get to school. And he learned not to ask for it lest he wanted to get the same scathing look he had received every day since the funeral. It was Rick’s fault Matt wasn’t a billionaire. Rick’s fault they weren’t living within their means. Rick’s fault that Matt had to leave whatever it was he was doing to talk to the principal, _again_ , about his anger. The reason why life was hard. The reason why he drank. The reason why he had to go into town every single day in an attempt to find a job lest their $50,000 run out.

_If he’s even looking for a job,_ Rick would think with a roll of his eyes as he watched dust kick up from the rotating tires of Matt’s truck. He’d watch him disappear down the long dirt driveway, a small part of him hoping that it wouldn’t ever return. But, with the house finally his, he’d clean up the living room, remove as much dirt and grime from his face, hands, and clothes as he could, (and when he couldn’t he’d don his dark jacket), and leave to start his long walk to school with his backpack hanging loosely off his shoulder.

Maybe he’d make it to school on time. Maybe he’d show up a few, ten, or fifteen minutes late. Maybe he’d never show up. Maybe one day he could walk right past _that tree._ But for now, he’d always stop to pay his respects. To mark off another day on this earth without his parents. Another day where his anger churned and roiled so deep inside him, he wasn’t sure if he would ever learn what it was like to just be normal. To not feel like punching out the lights of the first person that looked at him sideways. Or even worse, that _pitied_ him and still did nothing to help. No one ever asked how he was feeling. If he was alright.

He wasn’t. He never would be.

School wasn’t anything he ever really tried hard at. He tried hard not to fall asleep at his desk, sure. He tried hard to stop his stomach from growling so loudly. If he got to school early enough to buy what was left of a breakfast, usually a piece of fruit, it helped a little. There just wasn’t anything of interest he was studying – math was never hard for him, not with how smart his dad was. Blue Valley was a small town, one that most people never really left. And most people didn’t expect him to get into college, anyway. So, why even bother?

Lunch time wasn’t any better. Between forcibly being sequestered at the “Singles” table, listening to Beth Chapel blather on and on and _on_ about whatever to her parents (and she could talk about anything), and Yolanda Montez who would just sigh every few minutes while mindlessly spearing at her salads, it was enough to drive anyone crazy. Still, day after day, he took his usual seat and sat in silence. (He trained himself not to look at the good food Beth seemed to bring in every day –perfectly portioned for herself, not enough to share; not that he’d ask – but through it.) Even if they didn’t talk to each other, there was some comfort in not having to sit by himself anymore. Not that he’d say that out loud. Ever.

Then after school, if he managed not to get a detention that day, he’d start the long trek home, stopping by the local general store for a soda. An energy drink. Anything with enough sugar or caffeine to wake him up long enough to attempt to work on his homework as soon as he got home. However much he could get through with their crappy Wi-Fi. When it got too much, he’d take a break and work on the car again. Dinner was spent by himself. And the people on the TV greeted him with a new episode of whatever hit TV show was airing at the time. Whichever shows he could get on the basic package of cable they could afford. Still, Rick would just flip through the channels, letting his mind wander.

Waiting.

Then he would get the call. “Hey, man, you need to come pick-up your dad. He’s not doing well.” Not doing well. Got into a fight. Threatened to have the police called on him. It didn’t matter. That meant he had to make _another_ trek back into town. Another trip where no one would stop long enough to see if he wanted a ride. Once in Blue Valley he’d have to fight to pull Matt away from the bar, forcing the keys out of his hand, and drive him back home where he would only make it as far as the couch before he passed out. Or the call wouldn’t come, and he’d get back to his homework, trying to stay up, making sure his uncle returned safely only to be jolted awake by the front door crashing open and Matt’s grumbling as he managed to stumble his way inside.

Wash.

Rinse.

Repeat.

But today, there was a small change in his day. Enough to pull him out of autopilot and take notice. Not enough for him to care. Just notice. Today, there was a new girl at school: Courtney. He didn’t know who she was, but the whole school seemed to know she was new. After all, they had all grown up in Blue Valley together. They knew who a familiar face was and who wasn’t.

She wasn’t familiar. She was …too blonde? Too cheerful? Definitely the cheerleader type. And she wanted to join them. At their lunch table. And she was another one that wanted to talk.

He wasn’t about talking. He wasn’t about explaining to anyone knew why he was at the table, why he was considered one of _them_ , the “losers” as Beth had called them. He wasn’t about getting that “I’m so sorry” look of pity again. So, he left. And he grabbed a box of candy on the way out. He was just freaking starving.

_Think about my actions?_ Rick thought with a smirk. _Yeah right._ Why didn’t everyone else just stop and think for a minute as to why he could possibly do something like this? Then again, everyone thought he was a delinquent, so why not play into that? Be the guy they all thought he was. He knew he had a good reason for all of it. Even if no one else agreed with him. Or even wanted to hear it.

It was one thing in his life that he could control. He didn’t necessarily like detention. But it was quiet. It was an hour after school where he only had himself to worry about. An hour away from any and all responsibilities. An hour where he wasn’t Rick Harris. Not really.

He was just Rick.

Finally.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, when watching "Hourman and Dr. Mid-Nite" I really noticed that Rick was walking everywhere. Then it hit me, after his uncle Matt took his truck into town, or wherever he goes, and he lives so far out of Blue Valley (it looks kind of to be on a farm?) that the only mode of transportation he would have was his feet - until he fixed his own car. 
> 
> Then I noticed what his house looked like compared to the others (of course it was more than likely the most sensible choice for Rex to pick a home as inconspicuous as that for a superhero), and it made me think that the state of it, compared to everyone else's would make Rick embarrassed for how he lived. And with him spotting his uncle harrassing a waitress, and punching the truck, this idea to get to understand Rick a bit more all came together!
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed it.
> 
> -Rhuben


End file.
